Crossing Over to Elm Street
by Amanda9
Summary: A Lovely piece of fluff, that answers the burning question pardon the pun, what happens when Maggie Burroughs goes to Crossing Over with John Edwards?


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Title: _Crossing Over to Elm Street_

By: Amanda

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Feedback: sweety167@yahoo.ca

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Rating: PG-13

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Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Crossing Over or Nightmare on Elm Street. Or anyone/thing else mentioned. Although Alyssa is mine. 

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Summery: A Lovely piece of fluff, that answers the burning question (pardon the pun), what happens when Maggie goes to Crossing Over with John Edwards?

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Notes: Me again in the Nightmare realm. And like last time, you can blame Neph for it! She even encouraged it by writing a small part. And beware of my sarcasm toward John. 

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Completed: July 28, 2003

"Welcome to Crossing Over, I'm John Edward," the aforementioned man stood in the centre of an arena, absorbing the applause. All around him was bleacher style seating, filled with people – all eager to connect with the dead from the safety of John's mind. They weren't the hands on type…all but one that is.

Dr. Maggie Burroughs, long since re-forgetting herself as Katherine Kreuger, sat in the audience. Her good friend, and latest run-a-way case, Alyssa had dragged her along. Seems Alyssa was desperate to speak to her dearly departed, long lost father – a reunion Maggie really didn't understand the interest in. Going on her personal experience it was better to leave the past dead and buried. But being the supportive, caring consular she was, Maggie sat in the centre seat of the fourth row, next to her friend. 

John went on and finished his usual spew about how the spirits pick him and so forth, before turning to the Gallery. He took a few moments to relax, taking deep breaths with closed eyes. Maggie really thought this was a good show; he was giving everyone their money's worth. 

"I'm getting a strong pull…" he turned around the Gallery, stopping in front of Maggie and Alyssa's section, "here."

Alyssa held on expectantly to her friend's arm. She was sure her father coming to speak to her. The thirty other people in their section ment nothing to her. She _knew_ this was for her. 

"It's right here," he continued to wave his hand over the area where the two women were seated. Their row in fact. 

Desperate to control the squeal of excitement raising in her, the girl squeezed harder on her companion's arm. This was all more exciting then Christmas to her. Maggie just rolled her eyes. She didn't buy into the whole connecting with the dead thing. Surely not in any positive manner anyway. She could testify to that – although they would probably put her away for a long, long time if she did. Either way she had promised to come and support the girl, she just wouldn't do it happily.

John was still going, "I'm seeing a father…but one that was lost, at an early age." He was deciphering the images given to him by the talkative dead. 

Without missing a beat Alyssa's hand shot up like a school child with the correct answer. Because her father was an ass, and left the family when she was only two. But ever since she could she's been searching for him: to reconnect. Something that she thought couldn't happen after years of searching and coming up empty. That was when she first showed up on the steps of Recovery House Youth Shelter. A broken and desperate teen, searching to find how she fit in. Maggie took a liking to her right away, along with pity. Some shared camaraderie she didn't bother explaining to anyone, only Tracy and Doc knew. That was fine. More then fine. Like she wanted a bunch of people knowing she was the granddaughter of a hundred maniacs. 

But John just nodded. It seems a few people had that same back-story. "The letter K. He's showing me a K."

Again Alyssa's hand was raised: her last name being Karolin and all. She was convinced her father was trying to talk to her. For she had had a dream! One that told her she had to come to the taping, that it was a matter of life and death, and that she had to bring Maggie. It was so surreal, the dream felt so real as the strange man gave her the directions. He looked like something out of the 1960's; totally vintage but reeking of over-cooked barbecue. She could actually smell it. Like it was a reality or something. And being so desperate to connect with her dear daddy, Alyssa sat there in the studio with Maggie at her side. Obviously finding nothing wrong with the freakishly real dream. In her teenaged delirium, she saw it as a sign. 

Maggie was clueless to the dream inspired motive. All she knew about was her friend's heartache and her pathetic tendency for grasping at straws. Otherwise she would not have her ass filling this seat. It would be safely hidden at home with an oversized bottle of caffeine pills and defensive machete. But neither of these women knew how dangerous this deception would turn out to be. That was the point!

John was having his own problems this particular taping. There was something wrong with the way this soul was communicating with him. Something very wrong, but he couldn't break the connection. The connection had a hold on him. But as the saying goes, The show must go on. And John loved his showboating. 

With his eyes squeezed tightly shut, he continued, "Princess," it came out in an hiss, "He's calling her Princess." Without any thought, the medium's hands were clamped firmly around his head, like he was struggling with what was inside. And this time it wasn't his extra-curricular love for the dead. 

Alyssa left her hand in the air. To be honest she really didn't know whether or not the old man had called her anything, but she wasn't going to let this go. This was her chance to connect. 

"It's not you!" He snapped at the young women, his voice altered. When his eyes opened they were different, glossy and cold, and fixated on the brunette next to her, "Don't you remember…_Princess_?"

For a moment Maggie thought she recognised that gritty sound, but she quickly convinced herself she was crazy. It had to be all this talk about fathers. She just needed to pop a few more Valium and everything would be fine again. 

John shook his head violently, looking as if he had just woken up from a three-day bender. "I'm sorry…" his words were groggy along with his mind. But by this time half the audience had begun to leave. Sure they had heard about how Mr. Edward was a bitchy prima donna but this was too far. They were willing to take this from Dr. Phil but not some guy with a death fixation. 

"I'm going to try this again," he gave a reassuring smile to those still seated in front of him. These were the diehards, that gave a whole new meaning to dead-head. "Okay...let me see if I'm getting what he's telling me..." John raised a hand to his head, concentrating. "What's the connection to Ball Park Franks? They plump when ya cook 'em?"

His words received strange looks from the still seated audience, but inside John's head he heard a menacing laugh. He quickly shook his head to clear it. There was something really wrong this time. He couldn't get THIS soul out of his head…mostly because he wasn't just in his head anymore…and he really wasn't sure this was a soul. 

Out of no where, without any explicit R warning, a tongue snaked out of John's mouth and flickered at the slack-jawed spectators. With a wet slap it snapped back in. The poor T.V. host –slash- medium was flabbergasted. This could not being happening. But before he could reassure the people still seated, a vile current started in his stomach. With a force that could only be mustered by demonic energies, a wretched stream of vomit projected itself out of the man's body and onto the first three rows in front of him. It was met with shrieks and screams and still more fleeing people. All completely understandable. The scene was rancid. 

Two of the people screaming were Maggie and Alyssa. Actually it was more of a scared-gurgled-gagging sound. And both girls were stunned to their seats, the idea of moving wasn't running through their collective brains. Alyssa's dream never mentioned anything about projectile vomiting television hosts. It also hadn't mentioned what happened next. 

John began to convulse on the gallery floor. An odd combination of screaming and laughing expelled from the poor man as his skull, which he was so desperately clasping together, began to split. With a surprisingly minimal amount of blood and gore, the middle aged man's whole body began to split open. The small amount of blood and brains that did leak created a slippery mess on the once pretty carpet. 

Freddy Kreuger stepped out of John's body like it was a cheap coat. Raising his hands over his head he beamed a sadistic smile at the small remaining audience, "How's this for connecting with the dead?!" 

Alyssa cocked her head to the side looking the strange man over with curiosity. "Daddy?" she mustered in a weak, childish voice. 

Freddy's head cracked over to her, "Listen bitch! I'm not your daddy." He pointed a bladed finger at her. 

"He's mine," Maggie squeaked out without looking up. She really thought that when she drove that firecracker into his chest it was all over. Right now she was guessing she was wrong. Dead wrong.

"You remembered," the Nightmare Stalker cooed as best as he could through that cracked and gruff voice. 

The teenaged girl looked over at her friend: crossing her arms over her own chest she huffed. It wasn't fair! She had some here to reconnect with her dad, not Maggie's. Her priorities were a little eschewed by this time.

"But I really want to thank you…" he began slowly, stalking up the stairs to the miffed girl, "This couldn't have happened without you…" he reached out to touch her face but Maggie swatted his hand away.

"Don't you fucking touch her," she was on her feet now. The initial shock fading and replacing itself with her fear and hatred. That started the legendary stare down between the two.

Surprising everyone, Alyssa broke in, "Don't talk to your father like that."

The Kreugers turned to look at her. Confusion reading on both their faces.

"I…I…" the teenaged girl began stuttering, "It's…it's just that…he's your father!" 

Maggie's jaw dropped. Did this girl really not know who this…_man_ was?! She didn't know the legendary child killer, Fred Kreuger of Elm Street? The violent Nightmare Stalker of Springwood? But all she could manage was "You can't be serious?"

Freddy turned to the girl, extending his good hand, "She just wants her daddy." He now had the smooth face from her dream, and his living life. 

Alyssa nodded, slowly reaching to place her small hand into his. She was entranced by her own desperation and his powerful glare. No matter how loud Maggie screamed Alyssa didn't hear her. 

In an almost slow motion, Fred's hand closed tightly around hers and pulled the girl closer. 

"It's alright Princess," he stroked her head with the deadly glove, turning back to his scared self, "I'll send you to daddy." With that he plunged the claw deep into the girl's back.

She let out a blood-curdling scream, worthy of Jamie Lee Curtis herself, before falling over and dying. 

"You bastard!" Maggie was screaming at the thing that was her father and gawking at the lifeless body of Alyssa. 

He pulled the bloody metal out of the young flesh with a sickening suction pop. "Tisk tisk," he waved his index blade at her, "Don't talk to your father like that." He took the slow, stalking steps toward her. 

She backed up slowly, breathing heavy out of fear and searching for a route of escape. Seeing a clearing to the stairs she made a mad dash for it –only to be stopped.

Reaching out with his gloved hand, he caught her around the waist. "I'm taking you home little girl…" Freddy dug his hand into Maggie's scalp and began dragging her down the stairs. Her body hitting each step on the way down.

"Let me go! Let me go!" she was kicking and screaming the whole way, and being equally ignored by her father. 

He pulled her to the centre of the stage, next to the empty skin that was once John Edward. "Time for a family vacation," he pulled her up to her feet, his bladed hand wrapped protectively around her throat. 

They pair disappeared in a freakish ball of red and green light, and smoke. Only two girls had remained in the gallery, watching the family dispute play out. 

"Well, that was different," the blonde turned to the girl seated next to her.

The brunette nodded enthusiastically before breaking into a fit of giggles, "Ball Park Franks!"

The first girl couldn't hold back and joined her friend in the roaring laughter.

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END


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